


undertow

by stray_dog_sick



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 06:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stray_dog_sick/pseuds/stray_dog_sick
Summary: Every experiment requires at least two repeats.





	undertow

**Author's Note:**

> peru story: this was the sick fic! i had altitude sickness. good times.
> 
> title from 'dangerous blues' by the young veins

The water looks bluer than it should do, here in a tourist trap on the East Coast. I expected it to be dirty, although it’s not like I have loads of experience with the ocean, being from Las Vegas.

Members of our crew are already diving into the water, our dance squad not far behind. They look excited to let off some steam. Hell, I’m excited just to be somewhere other than the bus, a venue or a hotel.

I see Spencer run in with Jon on his back. The bassist has been scared of water since the Academy Is boys almost got him drowned, but Spencer’s not someone to let his friends miss out on a bit of fun.

Before long it’s just me and him left on the beach. Him, with his long hair covering a stupidly big forehead, nose too big for his face, eyes I can’t look away from. Who manages to fascinate me and infuriate me all at once.

I’ve been writing songs about him. He doesn’t know that yet.

“Are you going in?” Brendon asks me, and I nod. Yeah, I’ll go for a swim. I was just waiting for him to make the first move.

It feels like I’m always waiting for him to make the first move these days.

He strips down to his boxers, and I follow suit, feeling exposed in the cold night air. I look better with clothes on, I’ve always been told. Too lanky. Brendon, though, looks just as good as always.

As much as I hate Brent, I’m glad the teen introduced us to Brendon. The songs came together with his knowledge and voice and somewhere between Las Vegas and here (Myrtle Beach I’ve been told, but I’m damned if I know where that is) I’ve fallen in love.

He runs into the water, and I chase after him. We stop about 20 metres from the shore and let the tide carry us away from the rest of the group so we can float in relative privacy.

Brendon reaches out and pulls me closer. “Let’s play a game. Finish the sentence?” he asks.

I nod, but I’m not sure why. Words tend to fail me when we’re this close together.

“Round one,” he says. “If I had a superpower…”

“That’s so lame,” I reply, kicking at him under the water. “If I had a superpower I would use it to help others, duh. Your turn. When I’m 50 years old…”

“I’ll probably still be making music,” Brendon answers. I’m not surprised. That boy has music running through his veins instead of blood, I swear. “Round three. I shouldn’t…”

I think for a second rather than just saying the first thing that comes to mind. There’s only one thought swirling around my brain, though. “I shouldn’t be in love with you,” I whisper finally, hoping the wind will carry my words into oblivion.

He hears, though. Of course, he does. “Why not?” he asks, and I spend a few moments searching for a suitable answer.

“Could ruin the band,” I say. If Brendon doesn’t feel the same, it’ll be awkward, and it’ll mess us up. If things go south between us, well, the same applies.

And that doesn’t just affect us. It concerns Jon and Spencer too. God knows I could never hurt Spencer.

“You don’t know if you don’t try, though. Don’t be a coward, Ross,” he replies. There’s a hand on the back of my neck, pushing me closer to him, then his lips are on mine, and I forget that I need to kick to stay afloat.

If words were failing me before, by now, they’ve migrated south for the winter.

His lips taste of sea salt, unsurprisingly. I wonder what they feel like on land, something I’ve been questioning for a while, and realise that now I’ll be able to find out.

I wrap an arm around his waist and rest the other hand on his shoulder to keep us from drifting apart. Now that I have him, I’m not letting him go.

I can hear wolf whistles from behind us, the rest of the group spotting us. “Go get ‘em, tiger!” Spencer yells, and I laugh into Brendon’s mouth. My best friend is an idiot.

When we finally pull apart, he asks, “still think being in love with me is a terrible idea?”

“Well, every experiment requires at least two repeats,” I answer, and lean forward again.


End file.
